Crimes of Passion
by Tecoma
Summary: Lawyer Edward has to have things go his own way. He doesn't like to be ignored, or rejected. So when one girl, Bella, dumps him in high school, he is set and bound to make her regret her decision. He does what he does best, in stalking her, and setting out ways to make her return his affections. Passion can be the most deadliest motivator. Darkward. AH. Lemons.


Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer. I own nothing. I just love her characters.

Summary:  
Edward has to have things go his own way. He doesn't like to be ignored, or rejected. So when one girl, Bella, dumps him in high school, he is set and bound to make her regret her decision. He does what he does best. Stalking her, and setting out ways to make her return his affections, including stalking. Passion can be the most deadliest motivator.

Darkward. AH. Lemons, violence.

* * *

_**Crimes of Passion**_

**EPOV:**

Routines. A sequence of actions regularly followed.

I know everything about them, because I live by them myself. Everybody does, though.

Certain things we do... day after day, always following that same particular mundane pattern by force of habit to keep ourselves safe and content inside. Never stepping outside the box, we are all just creatures of habit.

Her, especially.

She hasn't the slightest idea I am watching her. But that's the point.

If she did, the whole matter would be ruined. She cannot possibly know.

The slightest inkling may drive her away from me definitely, so I like to keep myself as inconspicuous as possible, while I do it. There are various ways to prevent yourself from being discerned visually. Sometimes, the task is that simple, that all it takes is a mere baseball cap. Sometimes, it is just all about keeping a considerable length of distance.

Sometimes, it is driving in a two cars distance range of her, as she heads off along the highway in her red, rackety truck to start her early morning routine of work at the downtown library, as a library attendant, the job she has held for over a very modest two years, and counting. Sometimes, the matter is that solvable as switching my beloved black tinted Mercedes-Benz, to the much more blendable Volvo I have parked in my garage, simply so it won't rouse her suspicions that that same old car has been tailing her week in, and week out, for the past enduring eight months.

Why am I following this as yet unindentified young woman, you ask? Why is it that I feel this certain raging compulsion to constantly stalk her, day in, day out? It isn't as if she wouldn't recognize me, had she magically noticed me following her.

No, we used to be fleetingly close for a moment there.

We used to have a physically intimate relationship back in high school, for two blissful life-affirming months, until she somehow got the preposterous notion into her head that high school relationships, when you're fourteen, do not exactly work out ideally in the near-approaching grown-up world.

These relationships never evolve into something serious out of the school years, or so she had believed.

But it hadn't been that way for me. I had loved her deeply then, and hadn't stopped loving her ever since. Which, is why... in all things considered, I still monitored her every movement from that doomful day she broke the tragic news to me that she wanted greater things out of life, and that our relationship was just a casual, childhood minded affair that ought to end before either one of us gets too hurt, to this day onwards.

Some would call, what I have and am doing for her, even after all these years, a mere grudge over some sense of solemn wrongdoing I felt she did to me that day in ending it, if they so happened to be aware of just how much time and dedication I had worked in keeping this a closet-case; A grudge that eats away at you constantly, until you shrivel up inside, and turn all sour and bitter with rotting, mould-infested intestines.

Only, I can reassure you, my intentions are not that ill-humoured. I simply want it to dawn onto her, of what she is missing. I could have given her so so much. Not just all the money in the world, a product of a heavy income in the law firm I work at as a young, prestigious lawyer, and a happy home to come to at the end of a tiresomely long, and uneventful day...

But I could have given her all my love. I could have given her all the love I had for her in the world.

Only, no. She didn't want that. She wanted to go to college after high school, and experience everything that came along with it; The experimental dating, the booze-filled nights that left you waking up in the morning to a throbbing headache and parched tongue.

Four boys, is how many she dated in high school. And not a single one of them, could have given her what I could have. They were all interested in fulfilling their own needs. Not what she needed, and desired. All those college boys were so egotistical, and self-serving, interested in only a quick fling.

My love for her, was so much more than a brief, and fleeting, sexual encounter.

I could have given her the world, as well as my love; I had the money, the nice house with an out-door-sitting room and wide view of the spectacular city of Chicago. I am substantially wealthy due to my current job, and career-driven. I am young and in my late-twenties. Some women like to fawn over me, and tell me on a daily basis that it is quite the sincere shame that a good-looking guy like myself hasn't settled down and found the right woman yet.

Sadly, that woman that I had been pining and hoping for all along, was her- and sometimes I even regretted that about myself.

Call it a longstanding characteristical flaw about me. I could have had any girl I wanted, and she might have even accepted and reciprocated my love for her, as well. Life could have worked out so easy, and carefree for me.

I could have chosen a nice and honest, quiet girl to settle down with. A girl, who would automatically like me for me, and I could spoil her on her every whim and need.

Only, no. That girl I only ever wanted, was the same girl who first broke my heart in high school.

It probably wouldn't have ever been good enough for her, anyway.

But, now look at her. From all these months that I have observed what has become of her, I have seen it all clearly, and it is such a waste. She had such potential, and now, all that has become of her, is this girl who works a modest paying job as an attendant in the local library for the community. Her car is an old eighty model, that runs very slowly, and looks like a death trap on wheels.

With me, had she resumed our relationship all those years, she could have amounted to so much more than your regular working girl assisting you at the library. With me, she could have surmounted to so much more, than that regular girl who wakes always at the same early time of the morning, nine a.m, to get dressed and ready for the day's work ahead of her.

She could have been that woman that everyone envies at least some point in their lifetime. The young woman that appears to have it all; The devoted husband, who gets a constant steady supply of income. The young woman who hasn't the need to work, because her husband can pay for all the bills and whatever is was in life she desired, all by himself.

The young woman that got to go on frequent paid expensive vacations along with her loving, equally-as-young husband, to all the exotic places the world has, and over.

Only, no. Now she is a girl that has to work her finely limbed hands and fingers to the bone to so much as afford a fortnight's worth of rent. She has grown to become the girl that spends her nights at home after work, sitting on the sofa in her pajamas, watching television and the weekly rom-com DVD's she has rented out.

She can't go anywhere, because she doesn't have the money. Her scedule is tight, and it is always placed, in the back of her mind, that she cannot do this or that, because it may jeopardize her income. She is now the girl that stays in at night, but sometimes fits in a few weekends to go out with her tight-knit group of girlfriend's to gossip and have a few cheap, watered down alcoholic colorful cocktails.

What kind of life is that? A disappointing one, at that, especially considering she deserves so much more than what she has at current.

I'll say, I am quite privileged with whatever resourceful means I have managed to scourge out on in order to keep this thing between us happening, and underwraps.

The fact that I don't have to be stuck in the confines of my office every hour of the day, makes it that much easier to keep close eye on her. I dedicate a few hours a day on observing her from inside my car, sometimes while she's off doing general duties, like grocery shopping. I am blessed that I can go watch her anytime I please, while keeping myself a secret from her, like I know I ought to.

Watching her, following her, stalking her... has become like a daily addiction to me. I don't think I can ever get enough.

It thrills me in a way, and gives me this fulfilling sense of purpose, to know I have the power to blend in and watch her unnoticed.

I like that I can keep close tabs on her, that I can sit comfortably in my car, with the tinted windows scrolled down, sunglasses, baseball cap on and all... and she'll never know. She'll never know that I enjoy the days she decides to wear a skirt, because I can freely ogle her slender, white legs from across the street, without garnering any funny looks about it.

I like that I don't get any suspicious looks, or get deemed a pervert, if I stare at her wistfully from in the safe confines of my car. I revel in the fact that I can stare at her ass, while she leans into the backseat of her car to stow away the numerous paper grocery bags she has after her shopping, without making her feel uncomfortable in my doing so. I especially love the fact that I don't have to go to great lengths to conceal anything, if I so-happen to get hard and aroused, whenever I see her bite her lower lip as she squints left to right to cross the road before she crosses to make way to her parked car.

All these things, I have the freedom to do, and no one will ever know. Especially not her.

But there is only so much watching a man can take.

Those wistful recollections of having her, back in high school, on my bed as an overexcited, love-sick teenager, start to get a bit dim and faded throughout the years.

I can feel myself starting to gradually... slip, because of it.

Those memories are not so vivid anymore. I can no longer effectively remember the feelings of her warmth, her tiny ringed fingers, and smooth girly hands running all over me. Nor am I able to quite remember, how it felt to be inside her. How it felt to have her cry out my name once making her come. How it felt to kiss her, on the mouth, on those knobby knees...those hairless thighs.

The years haven't been too kind in keeping those sacred memories real. That is one thing I have come to loathe over time.

It just makes me want to experience it, and re-live it, all over again. I want to re-live the lively sensations it brought out of me, back then, of having the too-quick opportunity of calling her my girl.

And, yet how? How can I do that, without it destroying all the foundations I've set up in order to do all of this smoothly, and privately? I've been so methodical with all of this. I have set everything out so perfectly.

I thought admiring her from afar would be quite enough. I suppose not.

I find myself wanting..._more_.

More. More. More.

0000

Even though, I would have desired nothing more than for every other single person on earth and all responsibilities set for myself to be exterminated just so I could spend hours and hours watching her, I still had certain things I had to do.

Things that required me to be away from her.

Things that made me have to put up this big pretense that I cared about everything else, when really, nothing was more important to me than being around her, at least not in company, but at close watchful eye.

Sadly, I was still an only son to two nutty parent's. I was still an older brother. I still had familial commitments I had to make, and honour. One, including regular Tuesday morning breakfasts with the mother.

I've been meeting my mother every Tuesday, it has become sort of ingrained into me. Just another weekly routine. Dare I even miss it once, my mother would be frantic and throw herself into a worry. We meet, same as always, at the same time and place, in the morning. Being the considerate son, I always ask what she wants, then make it my number one priority to head up to counter and relay our orders.

Today, she wants a vegetarian sandwhich and a skim-latte. She tells me she is on a new diet, and is trying out to be a vegetarian. For how long I've been in this world, my mother has been on all type of sketchy diets. She's always worrying about her weight, and stacking on the pounds. Soon as we hug in greeting, she tells me she's put on five pounds. I tell her I can't tell any difference, and that she is being ridiculous, because she is.

My mother, Esme, has always been slender, and of average height. She has a fair few wrinkles and crows-feet around her eyes, but that is to be expected of any woman in her mid-forties. Regardless of weight pile-up and wrinkles, she's still my lovely, meddlesome mother.

After getting back from ordering, I slump into the seat across from her. And, exactly like every other time we meet, she goes into witness-examination mode with me.

"How are you this week, sweetie?" she asks, eyeing me with bright eyes full of concern.

"Fine," I say, same answer as always, never any different. "How are things?"

A peculiar smile stretches across her lips. "Oh, great, now that I've heard the news."

I blink at her. I don't know what she is talking about. "What news, Mom? What happened now?"

Her mouth pops open a fraction, but she recovers enough to give out a gleeful gust of laughter. "Oh, Edward! Didn't your sister tell you?"

"Tell me what? What has she gone and done now?"

"She's engaged!" At this, she leans over the table and takes firm hold of my hands, gripping them. "Jasper finally made the big proposal. Isn't it great? Speaking of which, when are you going to find a girl for yourself? When are you going to get engaged?"

I roll my eyes. So typical of my mother, flinging me into the conversation, like that.

I give her dry hands a good old squeeze. "But, Mom, I have already found myself a girl." I smile at her, like I'm so happy. Besides, it wasn't exactly a lie. I had found myself a girl, all right. She just didn't know it yet.

"You have?" Her voice cracks and breaks in excited disbelief. "Why haven't you told me about her, or even spoken to me about her?"

_Because you're too meddlesome, and I've been stalking her, so she doesn't know,_ I want to say, but can't anyway.

"Because it's private, Mom. Something strictly between me and her. I didn't want to tell you just yet."

"You didn't want to tell me?" She laughs out in outrage. "Honey, I've been waiting for what seems forever for you to bring me the news! What's she like? Is she a nice, beautiful girl?"

"Oh, she's beautiful, all right." Beautiful seems like such a understatement, though.

"So, when are you going to bring her over? When do I get to meet this girl?"

_Shit, this is kind of backfiring. She's actually believing me! _I can feel myself reddening up a bit, but I can tell she's so happy for her son, she doesn't notice it's all a ploy. But luckily, flattery always works, whenever it comes to my mother. Say enough praise and it'll have her forgetting the topic, and flustered in no time.

"You said you put on a few pounds, Mom?" I pretend to eye her speculatively. "Where? I don't see it anywhere. If anything, you could use a few pounds. What's with all the silly diets you go on? You're absolutely beautiful, and I'm sure Dad still agrees, even after all these years! You don't need to diet, that's ridiculous!"

Effective as ever, she turns into a bumbling mess. She waves my comments away dismissively, and her cheeks color.

Our coffees arrive, as well as her sandwhich. I was kind of hoping, eating would make her shut up. Not quite so.

"So, tell me more," she presses eagerly, sipping her steaming hot latte. "What does this mystery girl do for a living? What does she look like? I want a visual so I can picture her with you!"

_Picture her with me?_ Now she's being a little crazy here.

"Mom, you'll meet her soon, all right?" I tell her gently, pleading her to drop it with my eyes. "Just eat your sandwhich, please."

She scoffs. "Edward, I don't want to eat my damned sandwhich, honey! I want to hear more about my son, and the new developments in his life! I couldn't care any less about the damn sandwhich!"

_Oh, god. This is not good. Not part of the plan. Not part of it._

"All right, so maybe we might have dated back in high school," I tell her slowly, strung out with reluctance. "I happened to run into her, and we got to talking. So, we're starting to go out on dates together." It should disturb me how easy it was for me to lie right in front of my mother's face. Only, it didn't. I am good. Too good. "It's nothing serious as yet, but I really like this girl." Her face softens into awe at my words, and she visibly melts over it. She makes a funny cooing noise, like it's so sweet. "God, can we drop it now, Mom? Please! You're turning it into something more serious than it is! Please!"

"Well, it sounds serious to me!"

"Trust me, Mom. It isn't." _Not yet, anyway. As for now, I'm kind of flying under the radar, so to speak._

"I still want to know what she looks like," she presses, meaningfully. She's so relentless.

"Well, I don't know how to explain it," I tell her honestly. "She's indescribable, even with words. She's-" The words are lost on my hopeless tongue, because- -

_She's standing at the counter right now..._

_Man, what are the odds?_

Definitely not part of the plan. Since when does she come into this cafe, of all places, unless she made a sudden detour? She has her back to us, facing the male serving her behind the counter. Her long dark hair is in a ponytail today, and she's wearing a light blue jacket, and tight dark jeans, with stark-white sneakers. Jeans which... make her backside that much more pert and round, if I do say so.

"She's what, honey?" I hear Mom say, her voice high on eagerness. "What were you about to say, sweetie?"

Man, I can't even look away from her.

The man behind the counter is smiling a shit-eating grin at her, and I don't like the way he is looking at her. Not one bit. I can't see her face, I can't tell the way she is responding to him, but it... it bugs the life out of me. There's just something about the way he is talking to her that makes me feel strange. It occurs to me then, that I'm feeling pathetically jealous. And, why should I ought to have even felt jealous? He is simply smiling and saying something to her. For all I know, it could just be about the menu. Still, it doesn't feel right for anyone to look at her in that way.

"Dopey bastard," I murmur bitterly under my breath, and it slips out quietly before it even registers. I'm here, with Mom, swearing. She can't know what I've been doing. She can't know anything.

"What?" Mom is saying loudly, confused. "Honey, what did you just say? You're speaking too quietly, baby."

Taking it all in with a grain of salt, I force my attention back onto my mother. She is staring at me, her expression a humorous mixture of both confusion and agitation.

I force a smile, even though I'm simmering inside. "Nothing, Mom. I was just saying, she's beautiful. Too hard to say it with words."

"Oh, I'm so happy to hear things are looking up for you at last then, baby." She pats me on the hand affectionately, then brings her eyes down to her sandwhich on her plate.

Instantly, now that I know I'm safe, my eyes flit back over to the pair. The guy is slowly removing his apron, in mind-conversation with her, while she stands there. I still don't like the way he's looking at her. It's too... sexual somehow. He has no right to be looking at her that way. Not when I deserve it more. He just wants her for a fling, I know it. He has nothing on me.

"Oh, shit, honey," Mom mumbles, her voice half muffled with sandwhich. I turn to look at her, and she's got the mayo from inside dripping down underneath her chin. "Get me a napkin, will you?"

"Sure, of course." I rise to my feet swiftly, because Mom always comes first. I don't think that'll ever change. "Be right back, Mom."

And then, I freeze, because I'm kind of stuck in a predicament. The napkins are right in front of where she's standing. If I go over, I'll risk her noticing me. Then again, maybe I want to be noticed right now? Anything that takes her attention off that dickhead, who's talking to her.

Quickly, I lick my palms with my tongue, and try to flatten down the back of my hair. If she's going to see me now, I better look good for her. And, thank god I'm wearing decent clothes; I've got my suit and green tie on today. Women find men in business suits irresistable... or so I've heard.

I approach the counter and deliberately slide in front of her to grab a napkin. Immediately, it cuts off their conversation and, catching me unprepared, she looks me right in the eyes with her dark ones, and my heart rate inexplicably increases. She is looking right up at me, and never have I felt so vulnerable before in my entire lifetime, until in this very moment.

"Excuse me," she huffs out, frowning. "You could have said it. You didn't need to push right in front of me when I'm trying to hold a conversation!"

I realize then, that I've been incredibly rude. She thinks I'm being rude. _Way to be charming to the girl you've been stalking._

I ignore her, pulling a napkin free, shaking it out in between the small space in front of me. And, she's just... staring up at me with narrowed eyes. I just want to pull her in theatrically, and kiss her.

"Well?" she keeps up.

For a moment, I don't understand what she wants, and I hesitate, scrunching the paper napkin up between the spaces of my fingers.

"Well, what?" I mutter, sounding unintentionally hostile.

She raises a perfectly sculpted brow. "Are you going to give me it?"

I try for confusion, as I look down at the napkin I'm holding. "Give you, what? What is it that I owe you apparently?"

She crosses her arms over her chest, looking so beautiful and fierce. She's standing so close to me, I can almost count the number of freckles scattering along the bridge of her nose.

"An apology, for starters." Her gaze is unwavering, and expectant. _Fiery little thing._

"Ah, I owe _you_ an apology?" I repeat softly, disbelieving. "For what, exactly? If I rightly remember, _you_ were the one that broke my heart all those years back in high school, Bella." I turn to leave but, surprising me, she grabs me gently by the arm, stilling my movements.

I turn back to look at her, and the expression on her face startles me.

Her mouth is wide open, showing off her teeth. She looks amazed and disbelieving, all at once. And why the hell is she looking at me like that?

"Holy crap," she gasps out loud, then laughs softly to herself. "Edward Cullen, is that really you?"

Whoa, she remembers me. This is a little disconcerting.

"Yeah, it's me."

"Oh, my god!" She laughs again, her lips stretching into an awed smile. She runs her dark eyes down my suit, and my heart feels its pounding in my ears. "I can't believe it's you! You look...so..." She trails off uncertainly, and it leaves me self-conscious for some reason.

"I look so, what?" _Bad? Ugly? Unappealing to her?_

She takes in a deep breath, seeming to collect herself. "I mean, I wouldn't have even recognized you!" she whispers, in a very soft and breathy voice. Her shining eyes run all over my suit again. "Wow. You're wearing a suit! What gives?"

I am utterly thrown by how good she is responding to me. Maybe I was being so foolish in keeping myself hidden all this time?

"Yeah, I'm a lawyer now." I shrug. "That's probably why I look so different."

"Whoa," she mumbles again, blinking like I'm blinding her, or something. "Well, you look good. I never would have ever thought you'd end up as a lawyer!"

_Oh, Bella, I can be anything you want me to be. Lawyer, fling, husband... _

"Yeah, well I am. Well-paid lawyer, too." The instance that slips out of my mouth, I wish I could suck it back in. I sound like an ass.

"Oh, is that so?" she laughs quietly, amused.

_Wait a minute. Is she... flirting with me?_

"Yeah, I have a lot of money now. Money, I can take girls out on dates with," I add, meaningfully, hoping she'll catch on that I want her, and that I haven't ever, ever stopped.

She laughs quietly, then quickly glances away. I see the way her cheeks redden a bit with a splash of redness underneath her pale complexion, and it occurs to me, she likes me. She _already_ likes me, just like she had those two months in high school. Maybe the stalking hadn't been so necessary, after all?

"Well, lucky for the girl's," she tries to tease, her eyes widening slightly.

"No, I don't mean _any_ girl." My voice is low, and embarrassingly husky. "I mean _you_." God, even I can hear the desperation in my voice. How could I give up my facade so easily? Now she'll know for real... "If you're available, of course? Maybe we could catch up over dinner?"

"Oh, actually..." Her smile falls a fraction, as she glances behind her at the guy behind the counter. I look over at him too, surprised when I discover he's been glaring at me this whole time. _Pussy. I can take him on._ "I am no longer available, as of today."

_What?_ My head is screaming. _That cannot be possible. I haven't seen her meet up with any person of the opposite sex! How? What? I would never have missed something so vital!_

"What?" I'm staring the guy down. I can't believe this! It cannot possibly be true!

"Yeah," she mutters, giving me a somewhat sympathetic smile. "Mike's actually taking me out today." She motions over to the guy standing there, and I want the world to open up and swallow me whole. "Not that I don't appreciate you asking, or anything like that," she adds quickly, like it'll reduce the pain somehow. It doesn't at all.

I want to beat the shit out of this guy. Hell, I want to strangle him to death.

Gathering myself, I try to steer myself away from all the malicious thoughts whizzing by in my skull.

"Yeah, whatever," I force out with a strained smile, pretending to be nonchalant. "Good seeing you, anyway."

As I press myself to move away and head back over to where Mom is, I catch the concern and regret that flickers across her face.

"Yeah, you too, Edward," she whispers, softly.

I try to plant a smile on my face, once I reach the table where Mom is. She looks me up and down speculatively.

"Everything all right, sweetie?"

_No!_ I want to scream at the top of my lungs with panic. _Everything is not all right! She's fucking going out on a date with him today! How can everything possibly be all right? She's meant to be with me!_

"Yeah, Mom," I say instead, plopping down in the seat across from her. She still has a white thick paste of mayo on her chin, and she stares at me, waiting. I realize then, and hand the bunched up napkin to her, apologizing quietly for forgetting.

As she wipes her face, I turn to shoot the pair one last look. The guy she is with meets my look again, and unconsciously, mine turns hateful in exchange. I watch them leave together, hating him even more as every moment passes on. I hate the way he looks at her. I hate the way he smiles at her. I especially hate the way he reaches out and takes hold of her hand. Unnerving feelings bubble up inside over the sight; Some, aching resentment. Others, of much worse motivations.

It dawns on me then, I'm not above manslaughter.

Jealousy seems a big enough drive for a guy to do anything. And, so be it... I may just do so.


End file.
